


after°light

by Q (ANONiM0USE)



Category: Cloak & Dagger (Comics), Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anti-Cop, Anti-Hero, Bisexual Male Character, Demisexuality, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderfluid Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predator/Prey, Racism, Rule 63, Sexy Times, Soft Tandy Bowen, Soft Tyrone Johnson, Teen Angst, Teenagers, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANONiM0USE/pseuds/Q
Summary: Rewrite of work of the same title!____While Tyrone and Tandy are figuring themselves out in Earth-616, Earth-615 doesn't have the same time constraints.Or even the same Divine Pairing.Tyra Johnson and Tanner Bowen come from dramatically different backgrounds but both share a secret that they can never share with another soul.
Relationships: Tandy Bowen & Evita Fusilier & Tyrone Johnson, Tandy Bowen/Liam Walsh, Tandy Bowen/Tyrone Johnson, Tyrone Johnson/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1. The First of Many Tragic Backstories

“And her name was?,” he trailed off, the sound of the sentence just barely audible despite the fact that she knew that he’d practically shouted it over the thrum of the music.

She considers it. Really, she does. Should she give a stranger her name? 

She does.

“Tyra. Tyra Johnson.”

✹

The day that Billy died was objectively speaking, one of the worst days of her life, but literally speaking, she could barely remember it.

It could’ve been raining, foggy, or hot. All she knows is that the sky fell that day and no one’s ever put it back together again. And that’s all that matters.

It’s also, on another note, the second to last day she remembers at all. August 12th, 2008. It’d been a Tuesday.

The actual last day was a Friday. August 15th, 2008. The day they found Billy. They said that she’d had a mental break that day, denied that the body was Billy’s, lashed out or whatever…

She remembers that day better. She’d had on a jean jacket and a pink dress to go to the police station because they said they’d found Billy and for the idiotic eight-year old who believed in healing magic and underwater fairies, the logical thing was to remind Billy how cute his little sister was. She hated that kid so much. The fairies would give him back to her safe and sound, right? They didn’t. Because fairies don’t exist. And whatever the hell happened underwater was--

“Number 19, Tyra Johnson!”

She finds herself back in the beginning of the volleyball game; her lips quirked up in an inviting smile as she waves at the crowd. She doesn’t remember what time it is. 

It doesn’t matter.

✹

Volleyball is a vicious game of skinned knees and spikes to face that don’t really seem accidental. 

But she doesn’t flinch on the court. So it’s perfect.

And the fact that she’s vicious too helps. 

She dives for the ball that wins them the match so she lets the team’s praise wash over her in the same matter that she’d have done if they’d failed. As long as she views the praise as statements of opinion, she’ll survive the onslaught.

Water feels like a punch when you aren’t expecting it. There’s always this brief neverending terror whenever she chokes. That there’s more of it somewhere. Just waiting.

Like all problems in her life, a tsunami feels like it will kill her.

But she’ll survive it.

“You did good today, Ty,” Ever murmurs as he guides her to his car.

She’d been waiting again, she remembers suddenly. Her parents didn’t come to the match and from the ache in her feet, she’d been standing for hours, automatically denying ride offers.

Ever was the only one who got it.

For some reason, when he’d been Evita, he saw something in her that made him curious enough to be friends and he stayed for long enough for Tyra to get attached herself. 

Every now and then, there’d be rumors that he liked her but she shrugged them off. He’d seen too much of her to like her and too little for her to trust him.

He was good people though. He helped get her home whenever she lost track of time. And he was someone to talk to about something other than Roxxon or Billy or schoolwork.

“... Ahem.”

She focuses on him, finally registering two things:

  1. There’s no Lance in the car. Thank. Goodness.
  2. He’d probably said something and she’d been too tired to listen. 



“Did you break up with Lance?”

“N- Do you mean Alec?”

“Armstrong? Ew. But whoever you’re dating.”

“His name was Armstron. And no, we’re just not talking.”

Tyra waited him out.

“He kept on flirting with Alex and misgendering me.”

“You need to honestly just wait until you escape this place before you try to find yourself the quote unquote One.”

It’s a talk they’ve had quite a bit. Ever was attractive and according to Ever, that wasn’t enough to be, at the very least, discerning. 

He feared that he’d come off as cold and frigid. Like Tyra. He never said it. He never had to.

“So. Do you want to go to this party with me?”

She gave him a look. The alternative was to go home and push around a plate of spaghetti for twenty minutes while her mom and dad talked about work, religion, politics and anything under the sun other than the fact their family was falling apart.

“Of course. When is it?”

“Now.”

Time didn’t matter, she thought. And so it didn’t matter. And so they went.

Both right on time and irreverently late.

The party was in full swing out in some football player’s parents’ garden, the punch already spiked and the air thick with awkward teenage hormones, sweat and the general party vibe.

It was perfect and she started to disappear into it. The beauty of the crowd, the anonymity of it, when all at once, reality splashes onto the front of her shirt smelling like fruit punch and alcohol.

But it looks like ocean blue-green eyes, blonde hair and the sudden urge to, at the very least, check what time it is so she knows her time of death.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!,” he cries. Distantly she registers this but physically she’s frozen.

Worse times to freeze but still. Bad brain. 

“Yeah, yeah, no... “

Closer.

“I needed a little bit of high school on this jacket anyway.”

…. What?

“I mean. Not my jacket actually but it’s my friend’s ex-boyfriend’s varsity jacket so if it hasn’t already had some alcohol spilled on it at least once, can you say that the jock is actually a jock living their best life?”

Now she’s rambling. Kill her. Please. Just--

He’s laughing. 

The tension that’d been building up in her throat suddenly vanishes and she’s able to think clearer.

“But yeah. In essence, it’s fine that you spilled your drink on me. I’ll just clean it up.”

He makes the aborted movement to help her but settles on offering her paper towels and awkwardly standing there.

“So-”

“My-”

“You first,” he offers.

“I was going to ask if you were with someone and tell you something about my friend. But I’ve just realized that I don’t know your name…”

He chuckles, it’s one of those low nearly breathy ones that you think no one can hear but you,

“It’s Tanner. Tanner Bowen.”


	2. Chapter 2. I Promise You Officer, Nothing of Value was Stolen

“Did you know that my father named me after his first computer?”

It’s a good line. Gets most people to say something like,  _ oh wow, that’s cute _ ,  _ he must’ve really loved his computer  _ or something that isn’t--

“That’s really… Weird. Why’d he name his computer Tanner?”

From the way she delivers it, dark brown eyes on him peeking through her lashes as she sips the juice pouch she’d brought with her, it’d just occurred to her and she’d wanted to know.

And now he had to ask.

Too bad.

“I don’t know and I never got the chance to ask,” he murmurs honestly.

“Tragic,” she murmurs drolly. 

✰

He’s always been really good at taking care of himself. 

He can’t remember when he started or how he started; all he knows is that when he needed to he could always find his way home. No matter what it took.

Usually it took a phone and twenty bucks but nobody was hurt.

It came as a surprise to no one that he dropped out of school After. His mom wasn’t the type to take care of those bills on time even with his father there and afterwards, between the cases and the jobs she couldn’t stand and the simple unrepentant fact that she was terrible with money, she was worse.

Adding his mom into the mix got things complicated, for a time.

But it mostly meant that he’d had to un-complicate things. Really quickly. Especially if he didn’t want to be homeless.

Luckily he’d found Leah and then the church. The physical version, anyway. Leah had all but scratched off Catholicism for him.

Now taking care of himself meant getting enough to split 3 ways. 4, if he was being realistic. Which meant another complication:

This.

He looks around him, the flashing lights flooding his sight with purple, pink and red and he tries not to feel too irritated with Leah. Or her plans.

They needed to escalate if they were going to be able to keep the house with the new tax increases. And unfortunately, whatever created him had just decided to overload him with both charisma and good looks.

He was the honey and the thief. 

“Hi,” she murmured.

And thus the web shook.

✰

It was a strange thing to be the person that someone wanted to escape from.

But Tyra was almost strangely desperate to escape him. Or her friend had a penchant for getting themselves into trouble.

(It was both, if she was perfectly honest.)

He took the time to actively observe the girl he’d spilled fruit punch-flavored rum all over. She was athletic, slightly muscled but with a bit of softness to her body but not her eyes which--despite the fact that she wasn’t glaring at him, he was pretty sure-- pierced into him. 

It’s an idle sort of attraction, like the thought passes through: how would her lips feel if he poked them? And he shakes it off because it’s a weird thought.

“Where are you from?”

She turns to him with a mixture of amusement and something else.

“Do you think I have an accent?”

“No, I just… I don’t see you around this neighborhood.”

“I’m from the Garden.”

She visibly loses interest in him and he’s got no idea what he’s said wrong.

But while he’s here, he might as well take her wallet.

“Are you a hugger?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, tilting her head like she’s trying to figure out a new angle for him.

“Are you?”

“For the right person.”

“Oh. Haven’t met them yet in my case then.”

He gives her an exaggerated look of pain, “Ouch.”

“Was that your attempt at a pass?” She squints at him like she’s both confused and disappointed.

“There’s no reason to sound so disappointed if you wanted me to hit on you, you could always ask.”

She frantically shakes her head, “Yeah, no thanks,” she mutters,

“Anyhow, my friend’s here.”

He helps her off the stool, taking her wallet in the process and giving a gallant bow as her feet hit the ground.

“It was nice talking to you, even if you think my name’s weird and my request for a hug is creepy,”

“It was nice talking to you too. In spite of both those things you mentioned, you are actually on the top 3 boys my age I don’t feel inherently creeped out by. So, good job?”

“Thanks?”

“It honestly says more about me than you, if we’re honest. Be less creepy.”

She disappears into the crowd, reappearing beside a tawny-skinned boy with beaded braids who looks like he’s about to start a fight for shits and giggles looking like she’s defusing whatever chaos he’s started. 

From what he knows about Saint Sebastian’s Preparatory School, it’s supposed to be a catholic school but everyone he’s met here either really doesn’t believe in the sanctity of God or the concept of sin has changed since the last time he went to a church service.

But he can’t really be talking.

Especially since he bought this outfit from that girl he’d robbed the other night.

Karma was going to get his ass one of these days. Today wasn’t going to be it though.

He’s making a secondary pass around, about to lift the poster boy for the lacrosse team’s wallet, when the dreaded words that every teenager hates to hear at an illegal drinking party ring through like an alarm:

“The cops are here!”

He’s not sure what possesses him to not join the mindless fleeing crowd and look behind him but he sees Tyra, completely still and on the verge of  _ something  _ and it doesn’t look good.

He doesn’t have a moment to really stop himself from reaching out and pulling her along with him. She doesn’t fight him and soon enough, they’re running side by side.

It’s one of those dark nights that people disappear into and he’s unsure of whether to be grateful for it as they find themselves completely alone, trying to catch the air. 

“Hey, Tyra?”

She makes no sound. It’s like she’s not even breathing but as he tries to take his hand back, she grips it tightly.

“Was it the cops?”

She gives him a look of sheer panic and it hits somewhere in his chest.

He’s not too much of a fan of the cops but whatever her problem with them is probably a little more personal than being found a little suspicious for a fair reason (considering the fact that Leah's been more than a little high in his backseat more than once).

“Alright. It’ll be alright. Let’s find somewhere to hide for a little bit.”


	3. Chapter 3: Sweet Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Dissociation, mild suicide ideation
> 
> Tanner and Tyra have the first of many conversations where one of them isn't really paying attention.

_ Five things you can hear _ \--

Guy loudly complaining about Overwatch match, drinks being poured, the clack of keyboards, Tanner’s voice (“Ah, gentrification at its finest.”), her heart’s pounding.

_ Four things you can see _ \--

The orange shade of the walls, the neon pink 24-hour sign glowing behind the counter, Tanner holding two cups of something sweet (he’d said something something tea, supposed to be calming), her Mary Janes were scuffed.

Three things you can touch--

The wooden counter is smooth and cool to her shaking touch, the cushion is soft and returns back to its plushness after she gives up on sinking her pinky into it, the menu is ice cold and glossy.

_ Two things you can smell _ \--

Coffee and something spicy that makes her stomach growl.

She reaches for the kitten-shaped mug and takes a sip.

_ One thing you can taste _ \--

Hot chocolate washes over her tongue; rich and sweet with a hint of lavender and chamomile.

She breathes it and relishes the warmth spreading through her body. 

She opens her eyes to Tanner clearing his throat. 

"Thanks for the rescue," she offers. 

He shrugs and accepts it from behind his menu. 

"The first one is free."

"Where is this place anyway?," she wonders aloud as she flips through the menu, finding a mix of both Asian and French dishes. 

"Doux," he mispronounced lazily. 

" _ Doux _ ," she corrects from over her mug as she searches for whatever smells so good. 

A cafe named Sweet and yet there's only seven dessert items. Interesting. Looking back up at Tanner, she quirks an eyebrow at his shocked expression.

“What’s up?”

“You speak French?”

“French, some Mandarin, Spanish and working on ASL. I like to make myself understood in many languages. Including Latin, in case, it makes a comeback.”

She avoids the look he gives her. (It’s one of awe and a little bit of jealousy, if he’s honest with himself. And a tiny bit of lust since that voice kink’s not going anywhere soon.)

“How do you have time for any of that?”

“I don’t really have much of a social life and I pass out as a sleeping schedule,” she laughs and he joins her.

She’s being completely honest.

Sometime after Billy, she’d lost the ability to fully relax… Or relax at all, and her thoughts were really the only company she deserved.

She shook off the thought and refocused on the present. 

“Right so. Anything good here?”

“I wouldn’t know. I just picked this place because the store owners don’t ask too many questions.”

Watch her open her mouth,

“And you know this from experience, huh?”

And insert the foot.

She doesn’t mean like, criminal activity or whatever but he did lowkey try to take her wallet. And she can forgive the attempt but--

“Do I look like I’ve got experience?”

She gives him a onceover and despite her best attempts, something of her thought process must show on her face because next thing she knows he’s about to angrily storm away with a sarcastic,

“Oh  _ wow, thanks _ .”

“Look, man, you tried to take my wallet from me! It doesn’t help your case that you’ve got water stains that make you look homeless and quite frankly in need of--”

“So, because I look messy, I’m a criminal?!”

“Did you not hear the first part?”

“Hi, can I help you two?”

Tyra snaps to the waiter next to their table with a demure smile and lifts the menu,

“Yes, actually, two pain au chocolat and a dozen beignet. Oh, and a refill on these wonderful drinks, please!”

She keeps the smile and calm demeanor on her face until the waiter walks away, shaking his head in confusion before turning back to Tanner with a furious whisper.

“Look, we can argue about what a criminal looks like later but for right now, I’d rather not got kicked out of a cafe for shouting.”

_ And one of us can get off pretty easily with cops.  _

There’s a spiteful part of her that wants to ask what kind of criminal he wanted to look like. Because in her opinion, it didn’t matter if he was messy or neat. He was capable of ordering a perfectly lawful murder.

He dramatically collapses in the chair.

She has the sudden desire to wring his neck.

“Why does it even matter what I think? I’m a complete stranger.”

“... Right.”

She takes a moment to study him. He's got soft Rapunzel hair, that smooth and pretty gold that looks like it'd be so easy to forget tangling her fingers in, and sharp blue-green eyes so intense that she wishes that she could draw from memory still. So she'd have it as a reference. 

She wants to be close enough to hold him casually. To kiss his face without caring. And it's strange that it's not strange and she considers him a threat to her careful walls and freezes him out further. 

When the food comes, it's a relief to have something mundane to offer. 

"Have some; I'm buying."

"Thanks," he ends as he grabs one of the powdered cakes. 

"... I'm sorry for shouting at you."

"Thanks—"

"And trying to steal your wallet."

"It's OK. I wouldn't really care about it if I didn't have important things in there."

Like her IDs, credit card, bank card and Billy's photo. 

He'd just graduated a few months before he died and it felt like every time she didn't look at it, she'd forget what he looked like. 

Deeper than the basics, Billy looked like Billy and she was terrified of the possibility of forgetting him. 

His warm brown eyes and the mischievous grin he had in pictures was all she had left... 

She was already forgetting his voice. 

"... That's understandable."

"I'll give you 40 bucks to start over," she joked (partly). 

"Deal," he says seriously. 

She whistles lowly as she grabs one of the French pastries. 

"What do you need the money for anyway, if you don't mind my asking?" 

“What does a homeless-looking person need the money for?”

Her cheeks burned as she looked away from him and focused on the plate.

“Yeah.. My bad. You don’t really look homeless, it’s just… It’s something that my mom would say to me whenever I left the house looking a-- _ disorganized _ .”

It’d been a hard transition for everyone, coming from the lively but crumbling 9th, up to the pastel blocks of the Garden, leaving behind the familiarity of being allowed to just… Exist. 

To clean-pressed uniforms, waking up an hour earlier, to always being gawked at.

It set her teeth on edge.

But they’d adjusted. 

Her vocabulary was smoother now and her mom’s new job paid well. Even if Roxxon was shady as hell, she couldn’t begrudge them of too much since they seemed to take care of her mom.

One thing she couldn’t shake off was the fear--no, the terror. It settled into her chest like iron bullets and every time the red-blue light washed over her, she was that idiotic eight-year-old watching something terrible happen.

Every cop became a threat.

She couldn’t trust her memory about the red-haired cop. She couldn’t trust anyone.

They could’ve been lying to her.

And they were. Not that it mattered.

They finish off their meal in relative silence, the pastries distantly delicious but she lets Tanner have the majority of it partly because the feeling of food in her mouth tasted closer to liquid cement and he looked like he needed it more than her anyway.

She waved over the waitress.

“May we have the check as well as a number 13 to go?”

“I’m not your waitress. I--”

“Could you please tell me what she looks like then? Or wave her over then?”

“...”

She raised an eyebrow at her, channeling one of the politely irritated Looks that her mother got,

“Is there a problem?”

“...No. I’ll get your order and cheque for you then.”

Turning back to Tanner, she takes out her wallet, purposefully keeping her face neutral as he looks at her in shock.

“Did you think that I was going to let you keep it?”

She slides over a hundred-dollar bill smoothly as he gawks at her.

“When did you get it back?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He looks like he wants to worry about it but luckily the waitress comes back and refills their cups.

“Where are our--”

The other one shows up and slides a delicious-smelling brown paper bag that simultaneously makes her sick to her stomach and ravenous with the receipt sticking out of the bag across the smooth chocolate wood.

“Here’s enough to cover it. And tips for both of you,” she waves them off before wiping at the corners of her mouth and standing up.

The weight of eyes nearly undoes her. But she is fine as she waits by the door for Tanner patiently, holding the bag of food close to her. She has to be fine. She is fine--

“You’re a strange kid, Ms. Johnson,” Tanner finally breaks the silence and she is suddenly aware of the fact that she’s been wandering the streets with a complete stranger and a mind in the clouds.

She furrows her brows in response,

“And you’re a stranger, Mr. Bowen. Where are we?”

There’s a mark of irritated confusion in his voice and it rubs her the wrong way immediately.

“You’re the one who led us here.”

“And what--you just followed me to…”

The sound of water hitting the shore makes her lose her breath.

The beach.

Where’d she’d woken up After.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--

“You, um, have badness with this place too, huh?,” Tanner murmurs breathlessly.

She sideeyes him and feels a rush of almost protectiveness as she spots his shaking hands.

“Let’s just go,” she says, meaning to leave this terrible place and the sound of rushing water. 

Her body continues forward slowly though even as the grip of fear starts to restrict her breathing.

_ Come here, little one. _

Tanner follows after her, muttering something when she’s a distance away from him, probably incredulous about this whole ordeal but she can’t stop herself.

The ocean is dark and bottomless and despite the perfectly reasonable terror, she is suddenly struck by the realization of how beautiful it is.

If she were to die, the thought of drowning and disappearing doesn’t fill her with dread. Instead it’s almost freeing.

_ Come here.  _

The water licks at the soles of her shoes enticingly. Invitingly.

_ Go on. _

It is cold around her ankles but it doesn’t matter.

It’s terrifying as the water swallows her up but it is beautiful in the terror it brings her.

The terror it cloaks her with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terror is what unites us as a species. weaponize it, don't let it consume you, braveheart.


End file.
